


Reunion - True End

by Tub



Series: New Kyla [5]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Original Work
Genre: Angst, Drama, Drama & Romance, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-07
Updated: 2019-06-07
Packaged: 2020-04-12 08:06:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19127977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tub/pseuds/Tub
Summary: Staldar needs Yorsashi's help. The problem is, the last time he saw him, Staldar was tried for treason, and then 'kidnapped' the Praetor.They have a lot to work through.(Canonical.)





	Reunion - True End

Staldar has never been so scared in his entire damned life.

 

Not even alone in a cell awaiting trial— and potentially execution— had he felt such panic. It’s close, a near thing, fear coming from the same place in his chest, but this is different. He’s agreed to meet the source of his fear, face to face, making that choice of his own volition, not being dragged about, forced to face trial. This time he walks to his judgement day a free man.

 

‘ _ Stop this, it’s just Yorsashi. It’s only Yorsashi,’  _ he tries to tell himself.

 

Just. Only. ‘Just’ Yorsashi, ‘only’ Yorsashi are oxymorons. Far too reductive for the place the man holds in his head, in his— his heart beats painfully hard and fast with every step, quietly padding onward in the night.

 

He’s spent the better part of the day preparing, trying to be the best version of himself possible for this moment, but he still feels so woefully inadequate. He’s tired, thin, scales dull and lackluster even after a wash and coat of oil. He’s getting older, weathered by travel and combat. He can hide the worst of his wounds under his clothes, but the little scars on his face stand out against his pale complexion, criss-crossing lines and cuts marring his face.

 

But even if he weren’t so worn, even if he were pristine and  _ well _ , he doubts he’d feel much different. He can’t think of any moment in his life where he felt he could match Yorsashi’s natural glow and radiance, all shimmering, glittering forest green and bright blue gaze, built less like a soldier and more like a dancer. Effervescent. If Yorsashi is a lush garden in the summer, Staldar is a frozen cliffside in a blizzard.

 

He smooths down the front of his vest for the umpteenth time, weaving along side-streets, avoiding main thoroughfares. He could do this much at least, make himself presentable, bring along a small offering of apology, not a wholly romantic or unromantic gesture, but surely one of goodwill. It’s wishful thinking on his part, imagining that this visit could be anything but distantly civil, kept at arm’s length.

 

Staldar’s chest tightens. That thought is worse than outright rejection. Cold, neutral disdain, indifference. That would hurt worse than hate, worse than revulsion and anger and scorn. He’d prefer those to mild tolerance.

 

It’s hubris that he hopes for any better, has put so much time and investment and worry into this moment. He’s prepared to be let down. But he hopes. Just a little.

 

He has to.

 

He arrives at the noted street. The little piece of parchment had been adressed so formally, a sprinkle of salt in old wounds. Reminders of how badly he had messed up. He can’t focus on that, instead concentrating on his search of their flag, hoping he doesn’t look too strange, peering up at darkened windows. His heart leaps when he sees it, the flag of the Fangs hanging in the window of a rather nice little home, though its lights are also out. But it’s undoubtedly the correct place.

 

A tremor overtakes him for a moment, feeling hot and cold and so very afraid and anxious, but he does one thing he knows how to do exceptionally well and smothers it swiftly, breathing in deep, steadying his hands, squaring his shoulders. He climbs the steps up to the door, raises his hand to knock and— hesitates. His hand still shakes. He closes his eyes and knocks softly but firmly, three solid  _ thumps _ . Then waits.

 

Gods, but he is so  _ scared _ .

 

The seconds before he hears soft steps and the turning of the handle feel so long, so quiet, and then the door creaks carefully open, just enough to peer through. For just a second, Staldar feels the kind of joy and relief a loyal dog might feel for its master, his heart beating excitedly, but then he’s back to feeling terrified,  _ oh Gods, it’s him! Oh, Gods, it’s HIM— _

 

And then Yorsashi is pulling him forward, ushering him in, and he dumbly obliges, hurriedly shutting the door behind him.

 

And then they’re very much alone, in the half-dark, completely still and quiet. He’s slightly dizzy, barely taking in anything except he’s  _ there _ , he’s whole and seemingly well, and he’s right  _ there _ , and... Staldar blinks and remembers that Yorsashi is likely very confused and wary and stutters as he holds out the book.

 

“It, ah, didn’t feel quite right to come empty-handed, s-so, um…” He trails off, not knowing how he had meant to finish that sentence. ‘ _ Stupid, you’re so  _ stupid—!’

 

Yorsashi accepts the book with a hushed, almost confused little ‘thank you,’ (oh, his voice, how he had missed hearing Yorsashi’s voice) briefly looking over the parchment wrapping, before setting gently aside on a little end-table by the door. Staldar feels Yorsashi’s eyes on him and suddenly it’s too painful to watch the other dragonborn, let alone meet his eyes, instead turning his head to take in the rest of the space.

 

It’s a tidy little home, sparsely furnished and decorated, but very comfortable, still cozy. The smell of incense and flowers are thick in the air, not too heady, but sweet and inviting. Plants take up much of the available flat surfaces and window space, all healthy and thriving. A few small shelves, a few books, a couple of small trinkets. The most notable features are the gold shrine to Bahamut, a statuette sitting proudly besides some burning incense sticks and candles, smoke drifting up in lazy curls. And then the armor stand, covered in gear Staldar vaguely recognizes as being from Aldridge, clean and ready for his next shift.

 

It’s so disarmingly familiar, similar to how he kept his quarters in their garrison. He gives a small, weak laugh, feeling sentimental. A sad smile pulls at his mouth.

 

“This place is very… you,” he murmurs quietly. Yorsashi manages a tiny laugh at this, and surprised, Staldar turns to look back at Yorsashi, finally taking him in, seeing him.

 

Wide, tired, careful eyes meet his, and Staldar’s heart aches anew. Where there was light, bright,  _ fierce _ eyes, there are just exhausted, frightened eyes. Still beautiful, always beautiful, but pained. ‘ _ Did I do that? Was I the one to snuff out that light?’  _ He doesn’t dwell on that for very long, noticing that Yorsashi is dressed in leather armor, not dissimilar to what he would wear on their missions out in the wilds, though his figure has filled out a little, not so physically taxed anymore, perhaps a little healthier. His hand hovers close to his hip, near the hilt of his sheathed sword.

 

Staldar tries not to let his fear show, cause him to misstep, but Yorsashi saves him from his own tongue, finally speaking up.

 

“Why are you here, Staldar?” His voice is quiet but firm. Staldar speaks slowly, not quite trusting his mouth not to stumble and babble unthinkingly.

 

“First, ah… First, I want you to know that I don’t want to use you or… take advantage of you. S-so, if you want no part in this, want nothing to do with— with  _ me _ , wish never to see me again… Well, I’m afraid I can’t make that particular promise, but… Should you wish me to go away, never darken your doorstep, never bother you with any of this, then I’ll endeavor to keep my distance, leave you be. You need only say the word.”

 

He finishes, and he wrings his hands, waiting to hear exactly that.  _ “Go. I never wanted to see you in the first place. Stay the hells away from me.” _

 

Staldar looks up and Yorsashi shifts uncomfortably, but gestures for him to continue. Staldar clears his throat.

 

“I— I want to apologize to you, Yorsashi,” and his voice breaks over his name. Yorsashi’s eyes widen a little. He plows on. “I’m not asking for your forgiveness. Because, frankly, I don’t fucking deserve it,” and if he says it a little more passionately than he intends, so be it. The shaking returns, his voice growing hoarse. It hurts, it’s  _ hard _ , but he needs to say it. He needs Yorsashi to hear it. “I don’t deserve it. But I— I regret. I regret everything I did to hurt you, push you away, every, every cruel, jealous thing I implied about you and Prith.” He breathes hard for moment, before finishing meekly. “I’m sorry.”

 

Yorsashi grips the pommel of his shortsword fiercely, but his eyes don’t meet Staldar’s, and Staldar sees pain and conflict and a myriad of other emotions flash across Yorsashi’s face.

 

“You know,” he begins slowly, shakily. “After all this time… I never  _ once _ expected that you would apologize to me.”

 

Oh, Staldar has never felt to small in his life. It hurts to hear it said like that, but all things considered, he doesn’t blame him, not even a little. It’s a fair assessment. So he nods in acknowledgement, trying not to let the hurt he feels cross his features.

 

“I thought about… I almost chose to arrest you, turn you in. But I…” He shakes his head, running out of words. Staldar would have been foolish not to expect that as a possibility. So he nods again, but gives a small, watery laugh, putting his hands out by his sides, palms out.

 

“Can’t say I’m not glad I’m not clapped in irons right now.”

 

“Staldar?” His voice is so sad, so plaintive, it nearly startles Staldar. His hand has moved away from his sword, instead moving as if to hold himself, like he’s on the edge of falling to pieces. He’s on the verge of tears. “I’m so afraid. I don’t think I can keep doing this much longer.”

 

Yorsashi sounds about as small as he feels, in this moment.

 

Staldar sucks in a tremulous breath, and starts to reach out but stops himself short. He’s so near, so close, but—

 

“Yorsashi, may… may I hold you?” He asks gently, slowly, afraid to cross a line.

 

But then Yorsashi practically throws himself into Staldar’s arms, eyes streaming, and Staldar has to compensate for the unexpected weight, keeping them from falling. Yorsashi’s arms cling tight, face tucked against his chest, shoulders shaking, and Staldar slowly closes his own arms around his little frame. For a moment, he doesn’t quite feel present, struck by memory after memory— Yorsashi’s bruised little body rushing up hold him, Yorsashi wine-drunk and giddy clinging to his side, Yorsashi bleeding and scared clutching him like a raft, Yorsashi’s warm body against his battered one, begging to be loved. But the body against his isn’t a memory. Staldar feels tears soak through his shirt, and he holds on just a little tighter, leaning into him in a way he had never allowed himself before. It’s almost enough to make him weep. ‘ _ Oh, how I missed you, my own, my one, my everything. _ ’

 

“You look tired, my friend,” Staldar whispers to him, his own eyes clouded with unshed tears. Yorsashi hiccoughs around a little laugh, looking up at Staldar.

 

“I could say the same for you.”

 

Staldar pulls out a handkerchief from his interior pocket, offering it to a grateful Yorsashi. They slowly part and move to the sitting room.

 

And then Staldar spends a very long time explaining as much as he can to Yorsashi. He explains the trial, the Red Hand, the Praetor’s captivity, their mission to free her, the capture of Tosa and Alice. Freeing Borak. Yorsashi sits and listens, bewildered, but trying to follow, patiently waiting through the wild tale. Staldar isn’t sure how much time passes when he’s finally done, no more left to tell. There’s a kind of relief that comes with saying it all aloud, but also an exhaustion.

 

“I was told the Praetor was killed…” ‘ _ I was told you killed the Praetor _ .’

 

“That was a lie. And now her brother is wrongfully imprisoned.”

 

Yorsashi sighs and shakes his head, before looking to Staldar, conflicted.

 

“What do I do now?”

 

“Like I said, if you’d prefer to keep your distance, I won’t ask anything of you. I don’t wish to put you in harm’s way. I’ve done that enough as-is. But… your help, any help, would make a difference.” He hates that even his presence here implicates Yorsashi, puts them both in danger. He hates that even reaching out meant risk for them. He hates the eggshells they had to tread on just to make this happen.  _ ‘He deserves better than stolen moments in the dead of night. He deserves to be safe and comfortable. He deserves so much more.’ _

 

Yorsashi seems to consider for a moment, before standing, searching over his armor stand, pulling off a little object, cupping it in his hands. He returns, sitting besides Staldar again, pushing a little metal badge into Staldar’s hands. The symbol of Aldridge, inlaid with a shimmering gem. Staldar gasps.

 

“I don’t know how much this could help,” Yorsashi begins tentatively. “But if you go through with this, find yourself in Aldridge, this will keep you safe.”

 

Staldar is overwhelmed for a moment, staring down at the little pin in his hands. He looks between it and Yorsashi for a moment, speechless. Part of him wants to shake his head, tell him it’s too much, that he trusts too easily. ‘ _ I can’t accept this _ ,’ he wants to say, but can’t. This one badge would change so much, possibly be the difference between life and death, success and failure.

 

He pockets the badge. And then he looks Yorsashi in the eyes.

 

“Yorsashi, this… this alone opens up so much for us…” He struggles for a moment, and he realizes that there’s one thing he hasn’t said yet, something urgent. He swallows hard. “I… I don’t know when we’ll be able to meet again, if at all.”

 

His heart thunders hard in his chest, throat thick and hurting, mouth dry, but he doesn’t let his voice tremble or fail him now.  _ ‘Say it, you need to say it.’ _

 

“So, in the spirit of not leaving things left unsaid between us, I…” ‘ _ Do it _ .’ “Yorsashi, I  _ always _ loved you.”

 

He reaches a tentative hand out to Yorsashi’s, fingers brushing so softly. And then Yorsashi takes it, firmly, confidently, and he  _ pulls _ , pulls Staldar into himself, and Staldar can do nothing but follow. Before Staldar quite understands what he’s done, Yorsashi is wrapped around him, leaning up, hands entwined, nuzzling up into his shoulder, the hollow of his throat, and Staldar can scarcely breathe, heart soaring and aching all at once. He reciprocates, curling around Yorsashi, pulling him even closer, as close as they can possibly be in this moment, tucking his face into the crook of Yorsashi’s neck. At first he can only smell leather and oil, but then it’s all Yorsashi, his sweetness, rain and smoke and flower petals and cotton. Chests pressed together, he feels Yorsashi’s heart, racing, frantic like a frightened rabbit’s next to his own. Fear, elation, love,  _ love _ ,  _ love _ , in every beat and breath and shudder.  _ ‘I always did. I always will.’ _

 

“I’m so sorry I ever made you doubt that,” he whispers to Yorsashi, who holds on all the tighter, burying his nose into the curve of his shoulder. 

 

Staldar isn’t sure how long they stay like that, so wrapped up in one another, neither willing to break the moment. He wants to stay like this forever, for always. He wants to make up for the years he spent too afraid to let himself have this, wants to make up for lost time. He had decades to compensate for, but only a fraction of the night to do so. Staldar feels guilt begin to weigh on him all over again.  _ ‘It’s like you to walk into his life after all this time, dredge up old feelings and hurts, and walk back out. Only you. You never change.’ _

 

He wants to weep. He wants to scream. He wants to slash and tear at these feelings and thoughts until they stop.  _ ‘Let me have this, just let me keep this, just once, let me come back to him, I’ll give anything, do anything, if I could just— !’ _

 

He realizes how numb he’d truly been before. And now he’s torn wide open, hurting anew, worse than ever before. How can one person feel so full and so empty all at once?

 

He breathes in hard, trying to commit all of Yorsashi, this moment, the way their bodies fit together, to memory.  _ ‘Let me have this. Let me have this one thing _ .’ And then he pulls away, slow, reluctant, and Yorsashi does the same, just as unwilling to part, but knowing they can’t afford to stay. Staldar sighs hard, letting himself hold Yorsashi’s hand a moment longer, letting their noses brush tenderly.

 

“It’s getting late,” he murmurs, and Yorsashi nods. “I’m not expected back until morning, but I don’t think I should leave the rest waiting and wondering.”

 

“I understand,” Yorsashi replies softly, forlorn.

 

“I hope the next time we meet will be under better circumstances.”

 

“... Me too, Staldar.”

 

They slowly get to their feet, and Staldar begins to show himself out but hesitates.  _ ‘Si itov wux. Si itov wux. _ ’ He almost says it, the endearment resting on the tip of his tongue, but it’s too much, too much to say ‘goodbye’ and ‘I love you’ in the same breath.

 

He leaves.

 

He stumbles out onto the street, then turns back.

 

Yorsashi takes their banner down.

 

Staldar turns and begins walking back down the street, then moves brusquely, then runs, ducking down an alley, chest heaving. He leans against a wall, shivering in the cold and the sadness that wells up in him, and he chokes on his sobs, tired of holding it all in. He pours it out onto the pavement, full-body heaves and cries, tears flowing fast and hot. But this time, he doesn’t try to stop it, doesn’t pull it all back in. He lets it drain, wrings it out of himself. He cries so hard he nearly vomits, panting and whimpering and shuddering. It’s a painful cry, a relieving cry, a terrified, sad, happy, confused cry. He cries for Yorsashi, he cries for  _ himself,  _ he cries until he has nothing left to cry for.

 

It slows. It eases. His heaves turn into soft, even breaths again. His eyes begin to dry.

 

He slowly lifts himself from where he’s bent double, stumbling forward, reaching for his handkerchief. Which he left with Yorsashi. He laughs, a wet, tired laugh, and uses the cuff of his sleeve like a child. Better to have gotten it all out here than at the Spider’s Den, at least.

 

He looks up. And then blinks as his eyes meet the moons, high in the late night sky, bright, pale orbs lighting the dim alleyway.

 

“Let me come back to him,” he says aloud, head upturned to the heavens. “I ask for so little. But I ask for this. This one thing. Let me come back to him. Please.”

 

The night is still and quiet. Not even a breeze.

 

He sighs.

 

He weaves his way back to the Den. There is much left to do.


End file.
